Lystheni Family Politics
by BorderlineWaxwork
Summary: A spectre is captured on an assignment to stop a terrorist attack on the Destiny Ascension, but before she knows it, she's swept away on a quest to prevent all-out war between the Citadel and the Lystheni - a salarian rebel nation. R&R. Thanks.
1. Chapter 1

Marala stalked down a back alley of the wards, her HMWP pistol drawn and poised beside her orange hued head. Her prey were a group of three Lystheni saboteurs sent by their Dalatrass to cause trouble by planting a bomb in the Destiny Ascension– secretly a regular occurrence though terminus terrorists usually targeted small citadel colonies, not the most powerful starship in the galaxy: this was bordering on insane. There had to be some warped reasoning behind it. The Lystheni rarely got involved with the Citadel; usually it was the other Terminus groups. She could count the times she had seen a Lystheni in her lifetime on one hand. This was all irrelevant though - the only thing that mattered was that it didn't go off.

As she turned a corner in search of her adversaries, she saw one of them - lurking behind a crate to her right. She lifted the crate with biotics and shot him twice in the head whilst he scrambled futilely for new cover. Blue-green blood splattered the surrounding area along with pieces of bone and brain. Another jumped out behind her and before she had time to react he pushed her to the floor and put a titanium-alloy, double ended, Lystheni dagger on the back of her bright patterned neck.

"Don't mo-" He warbled nervously in highly accented trade language, just before she interrupted him by crushing his fragile throat cleanly with dark energy. The salarian slumped down on top of her and she rolled over and kicked him off. The red and grey saboteur flopped to one side.

"Now for your leader," She muttered dangerously in her ethereal asari voice whilst scratching her neck where the salarian had cut her sculpted nape. She rose and walked towards the door and examined herself, checking for damage. Marala was an extremely rare orange asari; her skin tone ran from yellow at the top of her elegant crested head, right through to the piercing red-orange of her delicate feet, her parents had named her after an old thessian word for 'sunset'. She had a white kite shaped tattoo on her forehead with rays emanating from it and her bottom lip had a white stripe running vertically through it. Her skin was contrasted by her sultry black irises encapsulated in beautiful almond slanted lids fringed with thick lashes and complimented by the alluring angelic form common to most, if not all asari.

Finding no damage she began pursuing the remaining Lystheni saboteur. Their leader was a female, unusual for a salarian, one might think, but not so. The rogue dynasty from the Salarian Union usually sent a female in with their squads, they were more effective commanders than their male counterparts, or so they believed.

"Stop!" a strangely lazy, equally accented, voice from behind her said ", and I might just take you back to Lysth. Rather than killing you outright," Almost instinctively, Marala went to spin around and point her weapon at the woman but she couldn't. Instead she found herself sprawled against the door unable to move.

"Now, now - Don't worry Spectre." she said the word, acid seeping unashamedly through her unusual accent "I've decided you'll be a worthy prize for the Dalatrass, though I have my own plans for you."

"You didn't anticipate a biotic did you? No, I didn't think so. I suppose the crew of the Ascension will find out about our little present in their own time. It's rather bad mannered of you to leave your sisters like that," She chuckled, more to herself than to Marala. Unable to reply – the dark energy holding her down had paralyzed her fully – she just lay there, seething. She couldn't even repel the stasis field. Before she knew what was happening the Lystheni leader removed a thin phial of a toxic looking green fluid with a short needle poking out of the end, the red light of the wards tinting it black. She only noticed the colour of the fluid when the salarian shone a light on it, presumably to check it was the right phial – she may have had many on her person. She stabbed the needle into Marala's neck and quickly withdrew it. The needle had pierced directly in between her vertebrae – She would have screamed had she been able to.

"Sleep spectre." The saboteur tossed the phial to one side and it shattered against the hard alloy floor of the Citadel.

She slumped to the floor banging her head on the jamb on the way down. Her kidnapper stepped forward and through blurry vision she saw her. A hooded salarian female salarian - previously obscured by shadow - in a light combat hard suit stepped forward. She carried a knife similar to the one her accomplice had and she had a short red cloak attached to the black hood which obscured her exotic saurian features. Then she was gone.

"Who's the asari," the ragged turian pilot enquired; his right and only mandible flaring uncomfortably.

"A gift," she responded in Lystheni salarian, visibly excited "to my mother."

"She will be pleased Gerda" he said mockingly in the same trilling tongue ", why not send her a cyanide pill with that."

"Silence Xirax" she snapped in response to his sarcasm,

"You know she hates spectres. I'm assuming she is a spectre or she would likely have not survived the sedative. If she escapes and causes shit in the palace she'll kill you. Probably literally-"

"I SAID Silence! My mother will likely have her thrown to the varren. You do know how she enjoys watching prisoners be devoured. Failing that she will be skinned and made into some abstract ornament – her complexion in quite novel… Or better yet, I will get to decide what happens to her." She cackled at the thought. Should this happen she would give her as a gift to her husband Krael, Commandant of the Lystheni Fleet. It might convince him to give her the frigate she desired. Then she could go slaving on pre-industrial worlds in the traverse to earn the Lystheni even more Batarian trade and investment. Failing that, asari was quite the delicacy within certain culinary circles.

Marala awoke to find herself in what she assumed to be the cargo-hold of a freighter. She rubbed her sweaty forehead with her, now armour-less, forearm and discovered a large bump on her brow; suddenly pain came flooding over her and she moaned dully. She remembered the mission; the Lystheni, the salarian woman and being knocked out, SHIT, she thought. The Ascension, she was sent to prevent a bomb exploding on the flag-ship of the citadel fleet. It's too late to do anything now, she thought, consigning her to the likelihood that the Destiny Ascension now has an even larger hole than usual; she now had to concentrate on her survival and the apprehension of the terrorists.

She got up and thanked Athame that her captors had left her some clothes on – Cargo-holds are rarely heated unless they're used to transport illegals from the Batarian State. What they hadn't left her was food or water though. Either they wanted her to starve; unlikely considering they went to the trouble to transport a seemingly lifeless asari through customs, or the journey they were making was a short one. She preferred the more likely and more pleasant latter.

Marala went and sat on an old crate and looked around at her prison. It seemed to be of turian design. It had the straight lines and jutting angles of a turian vessel, plus there were turian glyphs on the walls. It made her regret not studying the damned language in her youth; she may have been able to find a service hatch to hide in, or maybe even decrypt the entrance into the cockpit and face off her keepers. She wouldn't let them catch her off guard again, not with her biotics fully recharged or with her expecting them.

Then a door opened on the far side of the room. She prepared her biotics and took cover behind an unusually noisome smelling crate. A turian walked in; he looked like he'd seen better days. He was young enough but his face was scarred and grizzled and he was missing his left mandible, instead a triangular plate covered the area where it should have been. He wore no markings on his face – likely a symbol of rebellion against the Turian Hierarchy. His voice was almost as bad has his face.

"Come out asari," he shouted at the seemingly vacant storage bay in trade ", we ain't gonna hurt you. Well I'm not…"

The turian continued to ramble whilst Marala decided whether or not to show herself… They already know I'm here, she thought, And I could take him without needing the element of surprise, her asari implants couldn't detect element zero either so he wasn't a biotic or armed, maybe he doesn't need weapons or biotics.

"Turian," she replied authoritatively, "Who are you and where are you taking me?" he gave a weak laugh.

"I'm Xirax; personal pilot for the Lystheni clan." He responded prideful and smiling; she could tell he wasn't evil like her captors, just ignorant to what they did and were, ", we're, duchess Gerda and I, are taking you to Lysth, summer retreat of the Dalatrass - You're going to meet a very important woman: then you'll probably be killed. A shame really, you're very beautiful." The turian stated matter-of-factly, rubbing his missing mandible self consciously. "I recommend you sit tight for the descent onto Lysth. We wouldn't want you to receive a matching bump on the other side of your head now, would we?"

again, his crinkled face breaking into a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Marala wished she'd followed his advice.

She'd banged her head again, on the way down. She now looked liked an orange cave woman, her brow swelled to the size of a melon, and she was now suffering from dizziness. When the turian saw her he laughed and slapped her forehead; she hadn't been as embarrassed since an unfortunate incident in Lusia University two centuries ago, Spectres were expected to be professional at all times. To make matters worse the turian insisted on binding her with electrified handcuffs in case she attacked them or made a run for it: also, because she was dizzy she kept falling over and covering herself in mud on their half-kilometre journey up to the Lystheni palace.

Lysth was extremely beautiful; it was temperate and flat and green, the planet had one small continent and was at least ninety percent water. It was abuzz with life – beautifully patterned, iridescent winged, insects flew over blue-green, red-tipped grass; small furry mammals ran through the fields and brightly coloured flowers grew against a forest of towering timbers whilst huge reptiles basked under the white rays of Lysth's star at a nearby lake. A ghostly moon in the distance, barely distinguishable from the blue, cotton cloud-dotted sky, told her it was evening or morning. Lysth was an Idyll. No one would suspect that this was home of the infamous Lystheni Dalatrass: no one would guess that this was a base of operations for a reclusive nation of slavers and drug dealers… and occasional saboteurs.

The Lystheni Palace was just as beautiful. I was built in the style of ancient Armali, the asari city-state famed among non-asari for its biotics amps, famed among asari for its ancient culture – a curious choice for a group of highly xenophobic aliens. The Palace was pyramidal in shape with four levels, each level was supported by a row of great serpentine arches, the tops and bottoms of which were gilded with gold and silver respectively. The arches contained different statues of the goddess Athame in various guises and phases of her life. The Primary entrance, which was set within one of such arch, was under a three faced bust of Athame, each faces representing one such phase. The Palace was covered in the vines of an unfamiliar plant - presumably salarian or maybe native in origin; the vines bore beautiful sapphire-blue berries which complemented the green of the Palace. The palace _would have been_ just as beautiful had it not been built on maybe millennia of slavery. Salarian honour guards stood at the door in formal tunics and breeches, blue in colour and buttoned with silver disks, their boots made from black leather and trimmed with white fur with black spots, they were further decorated with red and black striped sashes running diagonally across their curved amphibian chests. The guards were obviously for show as they were unarmed; aside from the Lystheni double-ended daggers they held vertically at arms-length.

The guards regarded Marala disdainfully as Gerda; her captor clicked her fingers towards her and ordered them to remove her and take her into a shadowy throne room where an elderly female salarian in a black and red gown and a silver diamond studded diadem stood waiting for Gerda's arrival by a pair of spot-lit thrones, one larger than the other, the smaller one was covered with an opulent bouquet of the same flowers which grew in the elysian fields surrounding the ridiculously decadent palace.

"My daughter," she exclaimed in, presumably, Lystheni salarian, smiling and taking Gerda into her arms. "I see your mission went well." She looked over at the asari and scowled, her large grey, iris-less eyes narrowing in appraisal, "you brought me an asari, my dear. You do know how the varren like asari."

"Yes mother, and she's a spectre. She killed b-"

"_What? Are you feeling well?_ You brought a _spectre_ to _Lysth_; you brought a _Spectre _to _my planet_?" the sentient-lizard screeched at the high speed common to all salarians, glaring at Marala, who cringed at the sound.

"Ye-"

"You _stupid_ little whore. Do you have any _idea_ what you've done? If she had escaped the Union and the Council would have found out this location. Do you have any _idea_ how many people we have to kill and bribe every month to keep my palace a secret? Not to mention how much we donate to the Shadowbroker and Cerberus in exchange for their silence. Guards! Kill the asari." She, like her daughter had earlier, clicked her fingers. This time real guards appeared. Batarians and salarians in hard suits appeared with an array of weapons; pistols; assault rifles; shotguns - the army of the Lystheni no doubt.

"WAIT!" a voice sounded from nowhere: a tall middle-aged human male apperared from the shadows behind the taller throne. He was wearing a dark business suit, he had oddly pale skin, greying hair and a diplomatic face with strangely warm, though calculating, eyes, "The spectre could be useful. I would recommend that you keep her for now. The chamber is more than secure; even for a spectre. Not even a biotic couldn't break free… Which I think you'll find useful with this one." He spoke coolly, looking at her, his eyes betraying the disgust he truly felt.

The Dalatrass thought on it. She screwed up her grey salamander-like face and fingered the centre stone in her tiara. No doubt pondering the potential benefits and dangers of having a spectre bound to her.

"Very well," She spat, looking down her flat, nose-less face at Marala, "against my better judgement," she shot an accusing look at the human ", you'll live; guards, take her to the med-room. Have Marcus implant her with a tracker. Then have the doctor send her to the chamber. If she resists, remove her feet and feed her to the varren; Dismissed_._"

As a female batarian and a salarian male dragged her to a plain staircase she heard frantic shouting - the Dalatrass admonishing her daughter no doubt.

Dr. Marcus was sat at his desk in his office beneath the palace, cataloguing the medicines he had in his stores and listing the ones he might need. There was a beep at the door. The door slid open almost silently to reveal batarian guardswoman - Colonel Klasa Jah'Haddan.

"We have a prisoner, human" she informed him curtly, in a croaky, accented voice and blinking her inner eyes "The Dalatrass orders that she be chipped and sent to the jail." He nodded as she turned around and dragged in a battered asari with an unusual though beautiful orange hue to her skin. Her forehead was swelled and cut and her clothes were dirty but he could still tell she was marvellously pretty. And asari were always as dangerous and skilful as they were beautiful. The batarian woman threw the asari against his examination bed and she steadied herself, standing up straight, though swaying slightly. She had numerous cuts where the cuffs dug into her skin; they were extremely tight.

"Remove the cuffs," he ordered the batarian, physically looking down upon her despite her greater height.

"She is a spectre and a biotic at that. That would be unwise."_ Dear me, a spectre, eh? Looks like things are about to get interesting; the salarian's a fool if she thinks that she can contain a spectre. _

"Do it!" He ordered, looking into the batarian's lower set of eyes, "I outrank you in here, batarian." she went to the asari and keyed a code into the cuffs. She walked out grumbling about how she would get the blame if the prisoner escaped, _two good things_, he mused.

"Sit down." Dr. Marcus said, firmly but compassionately ", we don't want you falling down now do we? Do you have a name?"

"Yes- Marala. Pleased to meet you." she responded sarcastically, wiping dirt from her forehead.

"So you're a spectre are you?" he smiled at her as he went to retrieve some salve from his newly catalogued medicine cabinet ", don't worry, I shan't be chipping you. You're my best chance of escaping this hellhole."

"So if I break out of here and take you to the citadel, you'll give me the codes for the security doors, the freighter and the landing clamps?" she asked, her head beginning to settle down and her wrists bandaged.

"Certainly; I assumed you were going to break out anyway? You being a spectre and all." The young human doctor replied to her.

"Yes, but I had not planned on it so soon. I didn't even have a plan until you approached me. How did you get the codes? Why haven't you tried to leave before?" the asari enquired, her now-normal brow screwing up in puzzlement.

"Well… the turian who brought you here, Xirax, gave them to me – in case I was in danger; I haven't tried to leave because, a) I'm a doctor, not a soldier and b) I'd probably crash the damned ship, and c) well… There isn't really a c."

"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked, looking straight into his eyes.

"You don't. But you could kill me; I am a criminal, despite the fact that I don't want to live among my fellow criminals. I could ask you the same thing, but I don't care. Besides, ye' haven't had a better offer all day have you?"

"Very well, we'll attempt to escape tomorrow," she said thoughtfully, pausing and scratching her neck whilst summing up his argument ", tell… Tell the guards that I'm ill and that I'll have to stay in here tonight."

"I'll do better than that – I'll knock you out." He said chirpily, grabbing a nearby syringe and filling it with a purple substance. "You'll need your sleep, and you'll heal quicker this way, plus, I'm guessing you're tired. The guards won't argue with my medical advice."

"I'd better wake up in more favourable circumstances this time…" Marala replied eyeing-up the needle suspiciously.


	3. Chapter 3

"Wake up, asari." Marcus said, disposing of the empty syringe of stimulant which he had used to rouse Marala with, "It's time."

Slowly opening her eyes, she sat up from the examination bed on which she had spent the night and strangled a yawn in the back of her throat.

"What time is it?"

"1:00 hours precisely, Lysth time." The human responded, smiling hopefully, "You know today's hopefully going to be the first time I've left this godsforsaken planet in two years. It's a relief."

Marala had risen to find herself in the same room as the day before; a medium sized room with no windows, owing to the fact that it was below ground: instead the ceiling was covered with bright white strip-lights; the walls were tiled in sterile white ceramic as was the pristine floor. The room had a slight lingering smell of industrial disinfectant mixed with bleach; an unpleasant odour which made her wrinkle her nose. She was perched on a lightly padded bed – one of two placed end to end to conserve space - surrounded by metal cabinets and various bulky pieces of hi-tech medical equipment. Opposite the bench was a desk and chair with an orange-glowing PC. Hurrying around the room, packing away his equipment was Doctor Marcus.

The human doctor was a tall lean human with a wide, though well proportioned, face and an angular frame; he had the light brown skin common to most humans, though his eyes were a bright shade of emerald she had never seen in one; they almost matched the palace façade. He had a dark covering of curly hair on his head and his face was coated in stubble, more due to lack of time than intention, Marala supposed. He wore the common garb of most scientists and doctors, a tight, black and white tunic with even tighter black trousers and well shined shoes, which all served to make him look even wireier. This morning, a confident though tense expression adorned his handsome face; the sparkle of excitement in his brilliant eyes was clear. It was good to know that some still had some confidence in the Spectres; she just hoped it wasn't misplaced.

"Do you have weapons? It would make this all the more easy." she questioned the human, creasing her painted brow.

"Yes, yes. I wasn't completely unprepared for rescue you know," the human reassured her, shaking his dark head and cooing oddly. He strode confidently over to a non-descript cabinet against the back of the office-come-clinic and keyed in a code; the cabinet door slide back smoothly to show various chemicals and ointments. He gently pressed the back of the cabinet and it fell away; revealing the compact forms of two pistols ", plus, I might have actually had to defend myself, godsforbid… Here, an Armax Arsenal pistol and a Hahne-Kadar. You have the Armax; you are the spectre after all." He said, carefully tossing her the pistol.

"Did you get these from the turian too?" enquired the asari, examining the pistol,

"I gotthem from Xirax, yes. He can be quite the fence," he informed her, activating his weapon ", now let's go".

In the throne room, four of the Lystheni honour guards stood to perpetual attention in shadowed alcoves, having withdrawn to the palace interior for the night. Upon seeing her emerge from the basement stairwell they dropped their weapons and ran. _Pathetic. _Marala tapped into her biotics and flattened them against the wall. They passed out… Or died, she didn't know whether the sickening cracking she heard as they hit the wall was bone or plaster - she didn't stop to find out. She couldn't risk exposure this early in their escape.

The pair ran to the doors and Marcus hurriedly entered a code to allow them to leave the compound but as the doors began to open, half-a-dozen 'real' guards arrived.

"Step away from the exit!" the batarian from last-night barked hoarsely at the escapees, she was obviously pissed at being woken so early in the morning.

Marala glowed slightly as she locked them in a field of dark energy and they ceased moving: trapped in stasis. Marala and Marcus to exited the hall and locked the door behind them. The asari shot the console which controlled it and they ran for the dock.

As they approached the dock all hell broke loose - hidden guards emerged and shots began flying from all directions, the doctor and the Spectre dived for cover. Marala proceeded to cover Marcus from behind a concrete wall at the far end of the gangway whilst he ran in a hail of bullets to unlock the turian freighter on which they planned to leave.

A salarian in full armour on the opposite side of the docks collapsed, still discharging his assault rifle as Marala gunned him down, pistol blazing. Pieces of shoulder flew everywhere as his kinetic barrier gave way and his armour melted in the resulting impacts. She coolly switched targets; this time choosing an exposed batarian in medium armour. She grabbed an explosive canister using her biotics and hurled it at him, shooting it down just prior to impact. The explosion melded armour with fur bound flesh and burnt flesh from bone, killing the batarian almost instantly. She was becoming exhausted; even an asari on stimulants was prone to biotic exhaustion.

When Marcus had finally opened the ship she was almost ready to collapse. He entered the freighter and beckoned to her; then his eyes widened as he hid behind the door jamb.

"Just you wait there asari," a familiarly lazy voice called to her.

Marala turned to face the voice – Gerda.Before the salarian had chance to disable her, the asari made a huge biotic leap in Gerda's direction and went to grab at her only weapon, her dagger. The salarian knocked her back with ease, sending her painfully to the floor. She marched to where the Spectre fell and punched her. The asari dodged the three-fingered fist and grabbed it, holding it in place whilst twisting and kicking the salarian square in the jaw. A nauseating crunch was followed by an unintelligible scream of agony.

Marala grabbed the dagger and spun elegantly around Gerda. _I have a name_;she twirled the knife carefully and slid it into the back of Gerda's neck catching the pain-dazed woman unawares and severing her spinal cord.

On her peripheral vision Marala noticed a salarian male aiming his pistol at her mid-section. She lifted her pistol but, three resonating shots penetrated her thin armour, two making it through into her soft warm flesh. She discharged the Armax Arsenal pistol into the gloating soldier's unshielded neck - paying no heed to the pain the searing bullets in her abdomen caused her to feel; under the force of the weapon she fell backwards, caught off balance.

As she attempted to heave her increasingly numb load back onto her feet she fell to her knees, grasping the bloody hole in her armour, and yet still eviscerating her tired enemies with her marksmanship. She felt the warm blood as it made its way into the legs of her armour. She finally collapsed due to the pain, into the cold foreign grass, her objectives met; still bleeding heavily. She had no medigel.

_Hold on_, she told herself, _focus_.

Marcus felt a firm hand grab him from behind. He felt the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. The young doctor let out an unguarded gasp.

**AN:**

**Thanks to Tharagon and any subsequent reviewers**.


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't wanna kill you Marcus, don't try to resist," A gruff voice sounded in his ear; the hand holding him firm across the chest, "I'm gonna hand the asari over. The Dalatrass'll be in my debt." _Xirax_, Marcus realised.

"Will she? And what happens to me in this equation? She'd kill me; she'd probably make _you _kill me, just to prove your loyalty. Is that how much you value my friendship?" The human spun around angrily, prodding the turian accusingly in the chest, and knocking the pistol away from his head.

"But, imagine the credits," Xirax looked away, ashamed to meet his friend's piercing gaze.

"Oh it's okay then… Let's just kill each other over petty cash… How long has she had you wrapped around her little finger? You! A once fierce and noble soldier," the human was unashamedly playing at the turian's warped honour.

"Come with us. Start a new." Marcus said, switching his tone from angry to longing. Moving away from Xirax; "She's a spectre; she could have your record wiped; I could go to the Alliance, you could go back to Palaven - a clean slate, Xirax. You could even stay on the Citadel without C-sec breathing down your neck. Don't. Don't hand her – us – in."

"I was never 'a noble soldier'; I was a merc and y'know it Marcus." The warrior corrected, facing away from his friend, dilemma stricken. His mind was made up for him…

Three metallic bursts sounded over the din of the fire-fight. Both Marcus and Xirax switched their desperate gazes to the direction of the fire fight outside. Marala had been shot, she fell to the floor. Xirax and Marcus looked into each others eyes; the doubt in the turian's face was prominent despite his alien expression. He screwed up his ravaged, raptor-like features and swallowed his pride. Striding urgently past Marcus and into the Cockpit of the vessel Xirax began pushing buttons on his battered consol, seemingly at random. The old freighter burst to life and Marcus felt a static charge pass through him as the ship's Mass Effect fields washed over him. Even Xirax couldn't betray his only friend, no matter how many credits were on offer, not for a soon-to-be-corpse - and an asari at that. He was the only one in a long time to show him respect; to show him kindness despite the animosity between their two-species. Despite each other's originally xenophobic mind-sets.

____

She was struggling to stay conscious, but through misty eyes, and after what seemed like an agonising infinity, she saw the newly active freighter zooming towards her, its grey angular form glowing grey-blue within dark-energy fields. A human – Marcus - leapt out and grabbed her, she offered no resistance – she couldn't even if she had wanted to. He put her elegant body over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and carried her towards the freighter; she witnessed a squad of reinforcements running hastily in formation towards the port. They had barely noticed the human carrying her into the freighter when its hidden GARDIAN defences burst to life and began burning holes through the approaching soldiers, they couldn't even resist, their barriers and armour were useless against the lasers. The deceptively strong human heaved her onboard, his knees almost buckling under their combined weight, and lugged her into the LED lit cockpit and to a passenger seat of the ship as it burned off, away from that gilded cage of a planet.

"Hi." He smiled awkwardly, grabbing a nearby med kit from under her seat and donning the Logic Arrest, medical omni tool.

"H-hello, I…" she mumbled through now sickly-pale yellow lips. The injured asari looked down at her gushing abdomen and her eyes rolled back, though Marcus could tell she was still listening, concentrating through her misted thoughts, on his voice -

"I know you've been shot, Marala," He filled a hypodermic with newly synthesised anaesthetic and injecting it into her outstretched arm", I saw. You're in safe hands – I am a doctor."

And she went - still smiling sleepily at his amicable sarcasm and strange bedside manner – she was consumed by darkness. That darkness was a gentle one.

Marcus saw the turian pilot look over at him, scepticism chiselled into his face, hiding the more unfamiliar emotion of compassion.

"She gonna be okay?"

"Hopefully," Marcus replied - his brow creased in concentration- donning latex gloves and grabbing a silver tube of disinfectant.

____

Marala slept through most of the journey - resting and recuperating her lost blood and allowing the bullet holes to at least partially heal under their bandage/medigel seal. Doctor Marcus woke her minutes before they were due to dock with the Citadel so she could report in with the Council, collect her pay and receive a new mission.

"This is the freighter _MSV Barensix_; requesting permission to dock with the Citadel," the turian's usually rude demeanour now transformed into a formal business-like, though obviously-mock front. A rapid salarian voice replied in a similar manner "; state your business Captain Lineis"

"We are carrying an injured Spectre agent – Marala… We don't know her surname, but she -" Marcus addressed the space-traffic controller

"I am well enough to speak with a controller, Marcus" she interrupted strolling into the cockpit, hiding the pain in her battered abdomen ", this is Spectre Agent Marala Kylar; you are ordered to admit me to the official Spectre dock." She went to the controls and transmitted her credentials.

"Aye ma'am," the controller spluttered, almost audibly snapping his back straight in his seat. "Admission granted. The Council have requested that you remain at your current position… On the _Barensix_ that is, ma'am; the asari Representative is to relay your next mission to you personally, Spectre." Xirax and Marcus traded suspicious looks.

"Orders received and verified."

Xirax pulled the _MSV Barensix_ expertly into the Spectre dock at the base of the citadel tower; its old engines not betraying their age through their performance as they whizzed past dreadnoughts, pleasure cruisers and personal shuttles alike, skipping the queue to dock with the citadel. As they landed within the invisible containment fields the freighter shook slightly as the jetty fell to the port side of the ship and connected smoothly with the airlock.

"Why's she comin' here, asari?" the suspicious pilot asked her through squinting eyes. Marala responded with a shrug-

"The Matriarch is known for her whimsical nature, which seems to get worse with age…"

"You will tell her that we assisted your escape won't you?" the human asked, an off note in his voice, evidence of his nervousness in unfamiliar territory.

"I will keep to my word – I cannot promise that she will allow your records to be purged, however," She said placing a reassuring hand on her new ally's shoulder. The pilot and the doctor again shared a nervous look.

____

An uncomfortable hour later, an officious turian voice sounded over the Com.

"The Councillor has arrived. Prepare for entry."

The trio stood at a respectable stance as an asari and a turian soldier entered the increasingly cramped vessel and proceeded to scan the ship for explosive devices and bugs. Their composure quickly faded after the turian ordered Marcus and Xirax to wait outside on the dock for the duration of the briefing. The pair looked as though they were going to resist, but one look from Marala ensured their compliance. Xirax returned her look with what she presumed was a scowl, Marcus pursed his bristled lips.

"Marala, my dear," a maternal voice sounded in the trilling Armali language- the Matriarch – signalling for Marala to turn and face its source; an aged though graceful asari with a light blue complexion, hidden slightly beneath a thin pink veil and a plain bronze coronet. The Councillor was wearing a loose-fitting iridescent purple dress, which despite her age made her seem as youthful as her younger subordinate. She folded her veil back to reveal a radiant, though unadorned face. A face barely showing her advanced years, she leant and kissed her fellow asari on the tattooed kite which adorned her forehead. "It is good to see you again, sister,"

", and you Matriarch Urbana" she replied, inclining her head with respect.

"I regret to inform you that I cannot stay for long," taking the younger asari's bright hands into her own ", I have a meeting with our Ambassador regarding a trade dispute with Elysium and a dinner with the Chief Minister of the Salarian Union… I carry orders from my fellow Councillors and I - the Lystheni have gone too far." Her neutral expression became worried one ", we cannot allow this infraction on galactic security to go unpunished," The Matriarch chanted melodically, disguising her own lack of understanding with concern; "you are ordered to find out why they attempted to terrorise the Ascension and neutralise any further threats; this insanity must not occur again."

"You will be pleased to know, daughter, that the bomb did not explode. The 9th internal security regiment salarian STG diffused it without incident – which leads me to my next point. We – my colleagues and I – wish to commend the captain of that STG. He, at your discretion, is to become a Spectre." She placed a loving hand on Marala's face, a hand of reassurance that his being assigned to her was not a punishment for her capture. "Rannadril Ghan Swa Fulsoom Galan Ynhyacin Halbon Ijar-Hadra – or Captain Ijar, as he is known, is an accomplished spy and tech expert. He will serve you well in the time you are together… Alas, my dear I must leave; Ambassador Dantius awaits-" she informed her as a pager beeped from within her extravagant clothing.

"Councillor Urbana," she addressed the politician formally ", I have a request – would you allow my accomplices reprieve?" she asked solemnly of older woman ", I regret to inform you that they are former criminals – I promised them a clean slate for assisting me."

"You are one of our most celebrated Agents." The older woman commented and pausing thoughtfully – finally answering ", I trust you judgement, child. Yes."

And the Councillor left the cramped cargo-ship as graceful and as dignified as though leaving under the fanfare of some far flung palace. And Xirax and Marcus shattered the illusion by drudging through the de-con chamber doors, feet leaden, faces tense and eager to hear what the asari had to tell them.

"Well?" a disgruntled Marcus asked, dark eyebrows raised in anticipation "are we still petty criminal trash?"

"You are given clemency," She grinned at them.

"Thank you" The human responded his face reconfiguring with relief and lunging to hug the asari, the turian remained silent. "I'm – we're - free, finally… But you need compensation in some form."

"I survived Lysth. That is compensation enough"

"No, no. I've decided to stay with you on your mission. You'll need a doctor – you'd be dead twice without me, love." The human informed her, his expression deadpan, it was not a request.

"Oh… thank you." She was unsure how to respond.

"I'm staying too." The turian broke his ponderous silence, again not requesting. "You'll need a ship, a pilot. Plus, you'll get him," pushing Marcus jokingly on the arm – ever fickle", killed" though she could tell he was serious. She held out her hand for him to shake. He looked at it curiously for a moment; he chose to slap her on the forehead, laughing coarsely– his scarred throat permitting only a rough bark.

"Who's for a drink?" Xirax asked the pair.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:**

**Oh and, I know; I'm shit at writing drunkenness in. ****I'll keep it to a minimum, guys. ;)**

______

"I cannot believe that you have never seen Thessia, Xirax." Marala commented, supporting the now dead weight of Marcus over her shoulder. His elasa-breath a constant threat to her.

"Yeah, well, the asari an' me – we don't have a very good past." The turian shook his head as he spoke, probably attempting to disguise his drunkenness. He staggered and fell against the lift wall, banging his grizzled cranium against its white-painted alloy.

The trio had just returned from flux, a lively, neon-filled club in the upper ward arms. Marcus, rather foolishly, had bet Xirax that he could take him in a drinking competition; needless to say, the human was under the table after his fourth measure of elasa, whilst Xirax, however tipsy he may have been, was still standing: and speaking coherently. Marala on-the-other-hand had refused to drink on a mission, especially since she messed up her last mission – she wasn't about to make a habit of it and get her Spectre status revoked– which unfortunately for her, left her to clean up after two extremely drunken young men.

The man steadied himself and again went to stand by his friends, rubbing the spot which he had smacked and cursing in turian. The asari pursed her lips in a manner befitting of an asari three times her age, and seeing that he was fine, did nothing.

"No offence," he paused to burp into his scaled hand ", but asari - that's another tale for another time."

"Well hopefully, turian, next time you two will be looking after me, when I'm barely able to stand." She raised her brow chastising, and nodding towards Marcus, being careful to avoid his breath. "After our mission I will take you there, Xirax. Dull Stone here, can stay away from the _real _thessian spirits though. You'd think a doctor would know better."

"Whatever, Spectre."

To both their surprises, Marcus half-opened his eyes and laughed "I'm not goin' anywhere near that planet, it's like the Amazon on steroids – an' that's just the locals" and at that moment before Marala could do anything he vomited down Marala's already mucus and alcohol covered civvies and went back to whatever dark state of consciousness his mind had been in._ Just great; note to self: strangle this arsehole when he's feeling better. _Xirax burst out laughing in his usual hoarse tones as the vomit began to sink through the thin polymer fabric and onto her skin. _Never again..._

____

They dragged the half-dead doctor out of the elevator and along a remarkably busy docking arm to their ship, attracting pitying looks from C-Sec officers, diplomats and looks of contempt from what they assumed to be Spectres; clad in varying degrees of armour and weapons, and from many of the diverse Citadel species; asari; turians; salarians. They arrived to a less than welcome site. The _Barensix_'s airlock had been hacked open, its code-input consol sparking.

"Goddess-be-damned; Xirax, stay here with Marcus – you're in no state to fight," she instructed, passing the slumping human over to a less than stable Xirax and removing a bejewelled dagger from her boot. She looked less than amused at their current arsenal, but they had not expected to have to fight so soon and she hadn't yet purchased anymore weapons since their escape from Lysth.

The spectre ran into the freighter and Xirax went to sit down on a nearby crate, setting a now slightly alert Marcus down besides him.

"So Dr. Marcus – What's this 'Anasom' place?"

The human coughed a drunken laugh – "Shut up and call C-Sec; _Captain_Lineis."

____

Marala entered the turian ship holding the dagger, steady by her side. She looked over into the cockpit, poised to attack, and found it empty – left exactly the way it was. She turned her attention to the main corridor, which led into the living areas and the cargo hold. The corridor was of a medium length with black tiled walls, engraved with registration numbers in turian script. It was lined with blue-flickering consoles which she presumed controlled life support, gravity and internal heating. The Spectre opened the port-side living quarters to find them dingy – the air stagnant and in need of cleaning; bland and unwashed turian clothes were strewn across the bunks; a glass cabinet stood on the wall to her right, full of various weapon and armour crates, most of them likely illegal. _Weapons are weapon_, she thought with a shrug,_ He could have told me he had these_. She hurried to the cabinet in order to withdraw a decent weapon, avoiding Xirax's dirty underwear and watching the entrance for the intruders. As she reached to the glass cabinet the door slammed closed. She spun around and jumped back confronted with an unnerving site.

"Spectre Agent Kylar I presume. Captain Ijar-Hadra of the 9th internal security regiment salarian STG."

In front of her was an unusually muscular salarian in heavy armour. Ijar had the typical salarian grey-green colouring, his chin and 'horns' were covered with a light smattering of algae coloured scales, but his eyes were remarkably smaller than she had come to expect of a salarian and one of them was a milky-white and grey colour; a forked scar running down the left side of his face and through this eye, from brow to thin upper lip. He was wearing an unknown brand of hard suit, the colour of obsidian; his long, lozenge-shaped head was bowed slightly in respect of his superior officer – and a woman – though is eyes stared straight forward. He held his powerful-looking armoured arms poised behind his back, an assault rifle inactive and strapped to his right wrist, a complementary sniper rifle attached to his left thigh.

The salarian offered her his left and un-rifled hand and she, dazed stared at it for a moment before seizing it in a handshake.

"It would be better for us to speak later: I fear we are about to be interrupted, Spectre - Your… Associates appear to have alerted Citadel Security to an 'illegal presence' on your freighter." The man spoke with the usual warble of a salarian; a three fingered hand to his ear - he was clearly monitoring com traffic. She noticed that he stressed the word 'associates' slightly, showing his disapproval at her choice of company.

At that moment, as if on cue, two male turians and two females, a human and a turian gushed through the door of the living quarters brandishing C-Sec standard assault rifles. Having recognised the asari - presumably from her skin-tone and facial markings - as Marala, the human female, an aging woman, perhaps in her mid-sixties, with cropped greying hair and a pale lined face, ordered that they lower their weapons.

"Ma'am; if I may ask," she spoke coarsely, stepping forward ", how the hell did you get here so quick and _why_ are you here?"

"This is my ship – things are in order, officer. You may go." The asari nodded her thanks and dismissed the team. The woman looked pissed at being called out from C-Sec HQ for nothing. The squad withdrew from the ship, muttering under their breath about arrogant Spectres and wasting police time.

Minutes later, Xirax and Marcus entered the freighter – bypassing the de-con chamber as Ijar had. Xirax looked quizzically at the bold salarian poised behind Marala, raising his dull metallic brow and nodding in understanding as he remembered her briefing from earlier that night.

____

She sat in peace, surfing the extranet on the freighter's PC in the now relatively tidy port-side living quarters, researching the mysterious Lystheni on various public Encyclopaedias and the Council's classified Intel reports given to her; she knew their Capital, or Capitals, their founding year, their reason for wanting independence and more, but she still needed to know more; _I'll have to speak to the Shadowbroker about this job; offer him a higher price than what she's offering them_, she remembered the Dalatrass's words on Lysth.

Xirax was at the aft of the ship, performing maintenance on the engines. Marcus was asleep in the cockpit; probably corrupting the flight controls with his saliva. And their little group's newest addition, Ijar, was… somewhere. _Now might be a good time to check up on his files whilst they're all busy - or sleeping_.

She logged into Citadel Personnel and entered her screen name and password. Her email button flashed red in the corner - a top-priority Council report. Marala clicked it and accessed the email in question – as she suspected, it was Captain Ijar's file, newly declassified.

Name: RANNADRIL GHAN SWA FULSOOM GALAN YNHYACIN HALBON IJAR-HADRA

Rank: CAPTAIN

Posting: 9th INTERNAL SECURITY REGIMENT SALARIAN STG

DOB: 12.13.3083

Blood-type: AB+

Genetic Enhancements:

CLASS A SALARIAN MILITARY, RECONAISSANCE UPGRADE PACKAGE

CLASS A CITADEL, STG UPGRADE PACKAGE

CLASS A STRENGTH ENHANCEMENT, BinaryHelix corp.

CLASS B VISUAL ACUITY ENHANCEMENT, BinaryHelix corp.

Dossier:

"I see you're checking up on me, Spectre." She jumped at his sudden presence in the room. He was again, right in front of her. How could she not have noticed him? "A wise move; some more inexperienced soldiers might have-"

"Please Ijar; stop jumping out of the shadows like a wraith. There's no need to be so stealthy on board this ship. It's really unnerving." She stood up to come face with the shadowy amphibian.

"I was not… Never mind Spectre Kylar. I came to speak with you. About your crew," he'd done it again; his high pitch, high speed voice, emphasising the word 'crew', making his negative opinions clear.

"Captain Ijar. If you have any concerns about my _crew -_ you need not bother voicing them. They have saved my life more than once; I care not for their pasts. Only that they don't re-offend."

The spy's eviscerated brow creased in surprise ", If I may say, I find your complacency foolish. You should not be so dismissive of such information. I would not expect someone of your high-standing to be so ignorant; or to freely associate with these criminals: Xirax Lineis – an illegal mercenary from the Terminus Systems and Dr. Marcus al-Abdurrashid - a former Cerberus operative." _Cerberus, Marcus? Surely not! He did say that he was a criminal – but treason and xenophobia?_ She visibly recoiled in shock, her dark eyes widening. He let out a small smile but quickly hid it.

"You are dismissed, Captain Ijar." She stated in a calm but domineering manner, the shocked expression purged from her elegant features, a stern though neutral look taking its place ", you are hereby assigned to guarding the external airlock until further notice. I don't expect my subordinates to go behind my back like that, especially not by hacking into deleted and confidential files." He nodded obediently - raised to defer to his superiors, not question - and left, withdrawing his wrist mounted assault rifle.

"But thank you – I suppose. Do not hack into any more of this crew's personal files."

She couldn't blame him really – he was a salarian; it was in his nature to read into things. She knew that – after all, her father was salarian. _But could Marcus really have been in Cerberus?_

____

**AN:**

**Again thanks to my reviewers.**


	6. Chapter 6

She strode into the cockpit urgently. She had to speak to Marcus, just to know whether Ijar was telling the truth about his xenophobic past; his _treasonous _past. She paused before waking him, making sure her breathing was steady, her expression neutral. Marala wasn't worried exactly – she could kill him with ease, but she had to make sure he didn't harbour any prejudices against her, even though the man had just saved her.

"Marcus," she said, looking past his face and into the control panel he was sleeping uncomfortably on ", wake up."

"Mehhh-whaa… What," he yawned scratching his beard, his eyes still closed ",what?"

"Marcus, are you… Are you a member of Cerberus?"

The human snapped straight, she had caught his attention – his emerald eyes were opened and trained on her; his expression betrayed his shock.

"Where did you hear that? Xirax - Did he tell you? No, no. He wouldn't." he was obviously shocked by her knowledge of this. He looked like he wanted to run a mile. "_The salarian_! It was him – the nosey bastard! How dare he?" The human paused to calm himself, Marala's tranquil expression affecting him. "Well, I should have expected that you'd find out – especially with a spy onboard. Don't worry, Marala."

He stood up and hesitated slightly before placing his hand on her shoulder "; I should have told you that I was –past tense, by the way- a member of Cerberus. I didn't know how to tell you, that's all. How do you tell someone of another species that you used to despise their kind? I know I told Xirax, but we've known each other for years, and he was just as bad… Just, I'm sorry. But, don't worry, I lost belief in their cause a long time ago; they're evil. I just can't believe that he had the nerve…"

She looked into his eyes, looking for the truth. He was being honest; he was telling the truth – it shone through. She smiled at him and kissed him in forgiveness his forehead.

"Thank you, Marala." He smiled, his solemn mood quickly improving. The matron smiled back in response. Her expression slid quickly back to its solemn state.

"Please Marcus; I know you might not want to speak about it, but well… I have to know. Why did you join? Why did you leave?" the human turned away from her in thought. He began his story.

____

He told her how he had joined Cerberus in university, when he was studying medicine; about how a friend of a friend had introduced him to an earth-first activist, and how they became friends. He told her about how he had joined Cerberus believing the Alliance to be a convoluted, alien appeasing shambles. About how he climbed the ranks of Cerberus despite his age and about how had performed unethical experiments on non-humans and humans alike; exposing them to eezo; injecting them with gene-altering retroviruses; testing bio-weapons on them; and about how he never once felt remorse for any of them: believing the ends – the 'betterment' of humanity – justified the means.

Marcus confided in her about how he was disgraced and exiled from Cerberus, his eyes welling with tears – memories from a time when he cared little about life, coming back to haunt a newly compassionate man. He was posted to a remote research project in the Terminus Systems. He and his team, some of the best and brightest in Cerberus, were charged with producing a new, more efficient method of controlling sentients with cranial implants. Out of a team of twenty, three survived. A test subject escaped and murdered the rest in many gruesome ways – removing their limbs, smashing their skulls in, burning them,

"That's why-" he choked back tears and looked away as if to hide his blotchy face "– that's why I was exiled. I let an un-sedated prisoner escape and murder my friends and colleagues - me, the team leader. They sent me as a 'gift' to their Lystheni allies, believing me to be a liability." He sniffed his now blocked nose and wiped the burgeoning tears away from his eyes ", I was a monster Marala. Their twisted morality made me into a warped husk of humanity and in return I was cast aside like a used condom. Evil, that's what they are."

"Did you know the other human on Lysth? Was he Cerberus too?" referring to the middle aged man from the throne room.

"What? Where? I'd never seen another human on Lysth, or in Lystheni space. It's likely that it was just a slave – a butler or chamberlain." He shook his head in disbelief,

"No, I don't think so. He was the one responsible for sparing me. The Dalatrass wanted to kill me, remember? I thought I told you?"

"I'm sure it doesn't matter." He sniffed ",Would you mind if I went to my bunk? My headache hasn't improved much in the past half-hour – much as your interrogation was a mental massage." He teased her timidly; she must've brought back some painful memories – memories he was going to have to live with.

____

The Dalatrass sat, back straight on the throne of the CIC of her personal dreadnought, the _LMV Gerala-Lysthen-Durn_; her deceptively frail, though elegant façade cloaked in a plain black dress and veil; her usual coronet sat gracefully atop her grey head.

The _Gerala-Lysthen-Durn_, glided smoothly to dock with the Lystheni military shipyards in orbit around Mar-Lysthen, the legislative capital planet of the Lystheni Nation. The hulking A-shaped battleship barely shook as the station's massive docking arms connected at multiple points across its thickly armoured hull, the only sign that they had in fact docked was the hissing of pressurised gas from the darkly lit airlock to the left of the bare oval bridge. She stood, her head held high, and began to approach this airlock. Her personal guards, their features cloaked with black hoods and medium hard-suits covered by ceremonial red velvet cloaks, extricated themselves from their shadowy positions behind the throne and followed her at a generous distance, sleek prototype assault rifles drawn in defence of their leader.

As the airlock doors slid smoothly apart and the mist of freezing gas dissipated she strode through, bypassing de-con. Waiting for her on the other side of the fogged entrance was a welcoming party of three. The first was a short blue-grey salarian male in a blue uniform much like that of her Lystheni honour guards, except that he was wearing gold shoulder boards and his pointed chest was covered with prestigious medals; atop his horned head sat his mark of rank – a gold, ruby encrusted coronet baring a massive red feather; this was Krael, her primary son-in-law and Commandant of the Lystheni Military Fleet. To his right stood her nameless secondary son-in-law and Chief of The League – the Lystheni intelligence force; he was dressed in clothing identical to that of her guards; his only distinguishing feature was his now hoodless head, which had a centimetre thick red line tattooed vertically through the front and back, bisecting the natural grey of his gaunt features. To Krael's left was a truly strange sight: Jahif'Undigo - one of the few quarians not born on the Migrant Fleet; he was the descendant of quarians resident in the Terminus systems. Quarians spared from the carnage of the Geth Wars and the resulting lack of viable immune systems. His pallid anthropoid features betrayed no feeling to her, the grey of his skin and the black of his beady eyes standing in stark contrast to the ridiculous aquamarine robe which disguised his weak and feeble frame.

"Your Greatness," Krael stated robotically, the three men bowed synchronously", to what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?"

"Commandant, Chief - we bring grave news." The man leant in subconsciously. Her tone betrayed no emotion, she remained dignified ". We regret to inform you that our personal assassin – my daughter, Gerda – has been murdered by a Spectre." Krael looked momentarily shocked, his mouth opening and his eyes already large eyes widening, Gerda was a skilled assassin. His expression quickly returned to its neutral state. The Chief betrayed no emotion, he simply nodded – he was condition to betray no emotion, to be ruthless. The Dalatrass doubted that either of them would have displayed any significant emotion anyway; they were both married to her daughter through convention, not love.

"Thank you for the news, Dalatrass," the Chief spoke for the both of them, Krael nodded in agreement to the rhythm of his colleague's high voice.

"If I may, gentlemen; it is imperative that we discuss the construction of the _Feldurn_," the quarian interrupted them, his sing-songy accented speech met a stern stare from the ruler of the Lystheni,

"What is it quarian?" she interrogated, turning her gaze on him. "There had better be no delays."

"No delays," the quarian raised his hairless eyebrows at her lack of faith in his skills. She would have killed anyone else had they shown his lack of respect, but she needed him. "But interfacing the human drives with the rest of the ship will be extremely difficult; the technology is quite different. I fear that the Cord-Hislop engines will have to be replaced with more conventional, Lystheni alternatives-"

"NO." This time it was Krael ", those engines are an innovation, they are unique, and more to the point, they are a gift – free. This project's funds are running low as it is."

"With the drive cores in our hands we will be able to more easily copy the design; discarding the drive cores would be a foolish move: speaking from the point of view of a spy" The Chief added, agreeing with the Commandant.

"I was not suggesting that we-"

"Shut up, all of you." The woman snapped ", we shall discuss this later – we will, in the meantime, be retiring in our station quarters. Krael, have your servants fetch my things."

The Dalatrass stormed past the men, pushing the quarian aside as she left, her mourning gown flapping behind her.

____

As Marala carried her newly bought weaponry into the living quarters she yawned, placing the weapon crates at the side of her bunk. As she went to lie down, he entered. The swished opened to reveal the formidable form of Ijar-Hadra, he was no longer wearing his hard suit, instead he was wearing plain, khaki civvies; he sauntered towards her, bowing at his arrival.

"I ordered you to guard the airlock, captain." She yawned again, her tone bored.

"I feel I must apologise Kylar – you did not order me to research your crew, and so I shouldn't have." He stood up straight, expecting another dressing down, but she wasn't in the mood to deliver one, instead the asari clucked her tongue,

"It's fine Ijar - well no it's not, but I should have expected it: you are a salarian and a spy at that. Just return to your post, _do not_ do it again and forget about it."

"Very well Kylar." He turned to leave ", might I suggest though, that we travel to Omega? I have a contact there. I didn't kill him once – he owes me."

"Hmm, okay" she replied, but he was gone "…dismissed."

The asari walked to the intercom panel at the door and pressed its blue glowing button, "Xirax? Take us to Omega ASAP – but make sure I get at least seven hours sleep before the guns start blazing."


	7. Chapter 7

As the _Barensix_ disappeared into the artificial dust ridden upper atmosphere of the bulky and asymmetrical asteroid space station, Ijar and Marala made their way through the empty ramshackle apparently disused docking port where they had been dropped off.

"Any trouble Xirax, you get out of here; head for the Citadel. We'll find our own way back." The spectre agent ordered into her headset. "I hope you know where to look for this guy Ijar, the… Condition of this place is unsettling."

"It's been a while since I saw him; I wouldn't usually suggest such unsavoury characters except in these unusual and unknown circumstances."

Ouranos Wan, their Omega contact was a club owner and middle man to the renowned and feared Lystheni 'business executive' Mr. Llarn. The human Relay 314 veteran owned a shady strip bar on the dark side of Omega, just half a kilometre from where they had landed. The Hole, his club, was known to be extremely firmly guarded by expert mercs under the direct command of Ouranos so-much-so that it had never been attacked by rival clubs or street gangs because of it.

Llarn, their objective, was a criminal of the worst order. He harboured millions of illegal slaves from varieties of obscure species, from all genders and factions and backgrounds. He made his fortune in slavery and now he lived like an emperor on his private yacht, doing private business deals here and there through contacts; not only was he a slaver, something he was infamous for throughout Terminus space, he was a platinum mogul. Platinum is one of the key catalysts in clean-fusion cells used in everything from dreadnoughts to civilian power-stations, making the rare and precious metal a valuable commodity for any state or military. Mr. Llarn supplied the Lystheni government with platinum, making him a valuable source of information as he would know of any sudden increases in energy production which could point to military deployment.

As the pair stepped into the streets surrounding the tumbledown port, they were confronted with a sensory wall. Stenches, sights and sounds knocked them back. Marala wrinkled her nose in disgust at what she was observing. Garbage was piled high in the blackened streets, needles, bottles and used contraceptives littered barely hidden alleyways, dead bodies of many species and in various states of decay joining them in this medley of decay and destruction. This surely had to be one of the worst parts of Omega. Gangs of criminals consorted freely in the streets with no opposition, humans, batarians, turians, elcor, volus and salarians all with cliques of their own went about their business, twittering and babbling in myriad languages and dialects, paying no heed to the filthy surroundings in which they lived. Grey and black slums surrounded all this, no end in sight, every third dwelling had a hole in the wall, no door, boarded windows, and every building was riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks. Various vessels of all designs and origins, blasted to and fourth above them, polluting the scene with ancient and damaged engines and streaking the black and dusty sky with greasy clouds.

The foreign duo watched in shock as a batarian woman and her child were forced from a nearby building, screaming, their clothes ragged and rotten. As the victims collapsed in the street, a human stepped cocksure from within the building, armoured hands on armoured hips.

"Why are you doing this?" The frail woman screamed, swaddling her terrified child in her arms,

"Because you batarians make me sick," then man bellowed angrily, his shaven head stretching forward as he forced his words towards her ", you're filthy and you're ugly and you're fucking alien – howsabout that? Now sit still while I shoot you're fucking head off."

The man withdrew his pistol and began to take aim when Marala stepped out of the background to confront him.

"_Don't be so stupid Kylar. _You'll blow our cover." The salarian made a grab for her arm but he was too late, she had fired a warning shot in the man's direction already. The human and the batarian mother were looking in her direction. And the human was taking aim.

"Who the fuck are you?" he bleared, eyes narrowing ", Haha, an _asari_" he spat at her ", I should've known. You're worst that these filthy batarians, 'mothers of the council', HA, you're nothing but a race of hookers and witches, lording it over us in your dirty citadel." He began to march towards her, wielding his pistol. She prepared to fire her pistol, but as she went to squeeze the trigger, Ijar leaped from the shadows behind her and knocked the human to the floor, punching him square in the face and breaking his brutish nose, people gasped at his sudden appearance and the human grabbed his downed pistol, moving to shoot the spy's kite shaped head.

The spectre was taken aback, but she focused and pooled her energy, concentrating on the xenophobe. She lifted the human, extricating him from Ijar. He flailed his arms around in fear, his expression on of pleading, he was helpless as she discharged her weapon into his unguarded throat. A torrent of crimson blood flooded the insides of the dark energy field, obscuring his face and his now desiccated neck and shoulders in a sickly red film, his carcass slumped back to the floor as she withdrew her lift fields.

"I had it Ijar; I'm not some weak old Dalatrass who needs protection. Get up; we've got to meet your contact."

____

"I don't trust him, Xirax. He hacked my files; he told her about my involvement with Cerberus."

"Don't worry about it Marc, if he pulls another stunt like that again the asari won't put up with it. Nosey damned salarians; I dunno how I put up with 'em for so long. I'm going for a drink." Xirax stood up, still muttering to himself, and left the cockpit heading for the blue-lit corridor behind them,

", non-alcoholic I hope, I'm certainly not taking us in to land. We'll end up crashing into them."

"Yeah, non-alcoholic, I'm not as stupid as you, am I?" The turian bellowed back through the walls, "besides, I'm sure you could sober me up before we crashed, you bein' a doctor and all."

Then the freighter shuddered, Marcus lurched forwards and banged his head on the console in front of him,

", Xirax! Ouch, Xirax! I take it you felt that?" It happened again – consoles sparked and red lights flashed across various sections of the ship. The windowless cockpit offered no answers; only a flickering 3D display showed him what was going on. Seven small red triangles were heading towards a green avatar of the _Barensix _at the centre.

"Move Marcus, Sit down, belt up!" The turian burst into the cockpit and lunged for the controls. He began hitting buttons, red, green and blue. Marcus felt a mass effect field pass over him as the shields were raised: he heard a mechanical whirring sound from the exterior as the GARDIAN defences sprung to life. Xirax walked to the 3D display and jabbed each of the red triangles, designating them as targets.

More consoles sparked and struggled to stay online as the Barensix took another direct blow, this time however, the Kinetic barriers deflected the brunt of the damage. Marcus just sat there as the sturdy turian rushed around the confined control centre of the ship; two of the triangles blinked out of existence as the lasers burnt through their hulls, two more soon followed.

The ship rocked again as more metal slugs hit the kinetic barrier, and the ship's turian VI sounded, sturdy and level guttural tones blasted over the intercom in some foreign warning.

"Shit! Marcus, get up and lock down the Cargo bay; they're firing disruptor torps at us; I'm gonna bring us 'round so they hit the bay and not the cockpit or the engines."

Unquestioning, he jumped up, removing his belt as he went.

The doctor ran his fastest down the eerie blue corridor, when he reached the door to the bay he entered the lock down code and the bay slammed closed; pneumatic pistons firing and securing the men in the cockpit… and preventing them from reaching the engines.

Marcus went back to the Cockpit to find Xirax labouring over the com panel. He was messaging Marala.

"We're going to the Citadel; Belt up."

At that moment, a blood curdling screech sounded from behind them; metal twisted and tore under the impact of disruptor torpedoes; the 3D display ceased to work, all consoles turned red – some deactivating, lights failed and the vessel lurched to a stop.

Marcus fell to the floor and heard a crack as his arm broke. Screaming, he skidded forward as the gravity momentarily failed and hit his head on the pilot's foot well.

Black.


	8. Chapter 8

"The Hole," Ijar read, staring down his flat face at the glowing neon sign in front of him ", how pleasant. You mammals seem to think of nothing but copulation,"

"it's how we're built, Ijar. Anyway you brought us here. Wan's your friend." Marala raised her brow at her amphibian accomplice matter-of-factly

"He is _not_ my friend. He is an informant and nothing more." Correcting her, he moved to open the door to the strip bar which held their contact, "I suggest that we stop gawking and enter, spectre."

The remainder of their journey had been relatively peaceful; as peaceful as a journey can be on a space station ruled by slavers and criminal warlords. They hadn't been attacked again, not since their spectacle at the port and even some of the tougher looking gangsters avoided Marala's gaze. They had arrived to find a compound, much like many of the other buildings – grey, battered, dirty – except there were burly human guards at the door and snipers on the roof, kitted out in Phoenix hard suits and an impressive array of weaponry; these men were more of a personal army than a hodgepodge gang.

As the pair entered the dingy club they realised things weren't any different on the interior. Through the sleazy pink lighting and the droning electronic music Marala could still smell the metallic odour of weapons' fire despite the cheap artificial perfume used to soften the guarded atmosphere, she could hear the terrified screams of women on the upper floor and the firing of weapons in the streets outside, but worse still she could sense the silent suffering of the dancers. Some bearing breasts, others clothed in little more than a bikini and high-heels, tarted-up to the eyeballs in make-up; most were of her species, but this was not what hurt Marala the most – they were all implanted; they had all had their free will stripped of them by neural implants designed to control their bodies. It was obvious to her even through the rose tinted light she had witnessed it before on the batarian colony of Camala - she could see it mimicked in the mechanically rigid way they moved, their expressionless faces, and the look of sorrow which filled their colourful eyes, a look of desperation and helplessness. That is what unsettled her most.

"I did not expect to see you again, Captain Ijar. I hope your visit is a fleeting one," A cool and businesslike voice rang out from a seat at the bar in the centre of the club.

Wan was a tall man with narrow eyes and pale skin; the black orbs set into his face contrasted sharply with an oddly coloured forward pointing crest of luminous pink hair. He, like his men, wore Phoenix armour, complimenting his strange choice of hair colouring. The ceramic panels of his armour served to elongate the already tall man's figure giving him an intensely foreboding presence. Marala took an instant disliking to the man; it was clear in his manner that he had no respect for either the asari or Ijar, he didn't hide his contempt for the council and he made no secret of his opportunism.

"I take it that you're here about the attack. The Lystheni were certainly foolish in provoking the council like that – unless of course… Never mind Ijar, state your intents and proposals and leave, spectres are extremely bad for business." The human demanded, glaring at her salarian companion

"We are here about the attack." Ijar responded meeting his glare head-on, "news travels fast, even beyond the reaches of civilised space."

"I'm connected" he smiled, but Marala sensed the fire of resentment beneath the gesture.

"To say the least." Marala interrupted the exchange. "Llarn -You're his vassal. An underling, what's he told you about the attack?"

"Wonderful; it speaks." He commented mockingly switching his fierce gaze to the spectre "Rest assured, I am no servant to Llarn… No slave." He gave her a twisted grin at the word, "although I admit, I am in his 'service' for the moment. He's told me nothing, I promise you that much, only that there was an attack on your flagship. I could direct you to him however, I'll even provide transport. You'll need it."

At that moment, Marala's omni-tool lit up around her wrist and her suit VI spoke in her ear.

"Message received: sender, Xirax Lineis, _MSV Barensix_." The cool asari voice chimed soullessly in her ear, "We're under attack… Heading… Citadel… Meet." The electronic voice was eerily cold when relaying such an important text message.

"A battle in orbit, a freighter was attacked by an unnamed fighter squadron – likely pirates." Wan spoke and stood up to walk away from them, "I'll inform my pilot that you wish to 'meet' Mr. Llarn. My price is – well, you tell me asari. What do I want?"

"You want him dead." He nodded hardly visibly whilst she thought, "It's a deal."

"Do I get no say in this, Kylar?" Ijar spoke more quickly than usual, offended by his exclusion,

"What would you do differently? We don't have enough time to find a pilot or Llarn's ship ourselves" She stated, turning to face her friend - silence.

"Very well asari. I'll inform him immediately." He continued walking away.

"Why do you enslave these asari?" She called after him, standing away from her seat at the bar.

"Business, that's all spectre. I provide a place for men of all factions to relax and rest, and in return I make thousands of credits. I guard one of the few places of stability on this rock – for that you should be thankful."

"Noble of you, I bet you get absolutely no satisfaction from their enslavement." She spat at him,

"They're of no interest to me in the slightest. It is genuinely just business," He smiled again, that same unsettlingly wicked smile burning into her, "for all your airs and graces, asari, your species is as easy to break as the greediest volus or the most bloodthirsty krogan. And twice as eloquent when begging for mercy at the hands of my customers," And he left, entering a shadowed corridor at the opposite end of the room.

"He's insane; I warned you that he was rather unsavoury. I can't help but think that killing Llarn will make the Terminus Systems a more dismal place. I suggest you consider your moves carefully."

____

"Arrrrrgh… Oh gods, my head feels worse than it did yesterday." Marcus moaned as his vision began to normalise and colours began sliding out of the white mass that now clouded his eyes, "Where, what?"

"You're awake finally." A duo-tone drawl sounded at a small distance "I was beginning to think that you've been stealing my elasa. I splinted your arm the best I could but I'm no doctor."

"My arm? Why?" Marcus said confused before squealing in pain as he tried to lift it up to see, "Mercy. I'll have to redo this, it's splinted wrong, this's for a turian arm."

The human winced as he went to stand up, grabbing the pilot's chair to steady himself, "What happened?"

"We were attacked. The mass effect core's busted, no gravity, no FTL, no shields. We're sitting Annaxi. Or we were."

"No gravity? I'm stood up-" The human screwed up his already pain contorted face in confusion,

"Not our gravity, we're in some ship's hangar. The bastards are breaking through my encryption on the airlock right now." His mandible flared, showing his true stress and worry, "We've got about ten minutes. Ordinarily they'd need to blow the damn door off, but they're salarians, it's what they do."

"I take it you've got a plan? We're not going to just sit here are we?"

"Well, no 'course not, but you're in no state to fight, an' I'm not gonna leave you. You're more likely to kill yourself than those lizards." Xirax's scorched face creased in a smile. Marcus narrowed his eyes at the turian who promptly leapt up, "Okay, I'll go fetch armour and weapons, splint your damn arm before they crack the code."

Minutes passed and Marcus had barely managed to squeeze into his ceramic coated boots before the airlock hissed open and three salarian commandos burst in, pistols in hand and demanding Marcus and Xirax's surrender in highly accented Trade language,

"Surrender now strangers and you may not be killed."

"Screw that," He heard Xirax shout at the three men in the de-con chamber. Before they had a chance to fire their weapons into the enclosed space Marcus ran to the controls, sealed the airlock without engaging the encryption and entered a command to vent engine coolant into the chamber.

"I see you're not all that hurt then, Marc, if you're running around. Fetch your med-kit and we'll get out of here."

____

"Your Greatness, we have captured the asari's companions. I regret to inform you however that… they have escaped, and _she_ is nowhere to be found, rest assured however-"

"Silence eunuch." The Dalatrass commanded, barely raising her voice, "send the traitors back to me, I wish to deal with them myself; the Palace Kitchens have been low on good food of late. As for the spectre - she is already on their tail, with a Union interloper. I fear they may be too much for someone as pathetic as you to handle but nevertheless, if you kill or capture her you will be richly rewarded: VI, end transmission."

She stood up and strode to her porthole, her crimson gown flowing behind her, sliding gracefully across the cool alloy surface of the space station floor. She enjoyed staring out into space; the velvet blackness of the abysmal vacuum was truly a sight to behold, but for now her window faced the dark side of the watery planet below – capital of her empire in its golden age. A billion flickering lights lit its surface, concentrated around one central landlocked sea. Below her people slept, unaware of how great they were to be in months, ignorant to the glory that their Dalatrass was to unleash on the Lystheni and the destruction she was to reign on the myriad philistine species of the Citadel. Including their arrogant cousins in the Union.

"Beautiful isn't it." She barely paid the musically deep voice any heed,

"It is nothing compared to what we will bring with our reign."

"What we will both bring, salarian. Do not forget who funds your crusade."

"We are not _salarian_," she hissed, turning to face the shadows, "we are Lystheni," as she stared into the black of her majestically large chambers a ghostly pale figure tore itself from the shadows. The human,

"It is good that you make that distinction, otherwise we would not discriminate between you and… Undesirables. Rest assured, ally, that the adjustments have been made to the drive cores, the project will continue as planned. I have already had Mr 'Undigo informed. Goodbye." And the charismatic human turned to leave, disappearing unheard in to the shadows of her quarters. She was left in the dark to ponder their coming renaissance.


	9. Chapter 9

Wan's ship was old. Maybe older than the humans' first contact, but still the blunt object of a ship pierced the oppressive clouds above Omega as well as any cutting edge asari frigate. To be honest, Marala didn't care about the age of the ship, so long as it worked. They were sat in the cockpit of the freighter Wan used to transport slaves throughout the Terminus Systems. It was similar to the _Barensix _in layout but where the _Barensix_ had no windows, this had one small forward facing porthole and where there were the angular turian glyphs and symbols above and around the Barensix, here less familiar; more rounded and fluid characters took their place.

Wan's pilot was an aging human male with steel grey eyes and hair as white as talc poking defiantly through his naked scalp. He never turned around to acknowledge his passengers, or to even tell them to buckle up as he engaged the freighter's engines. The pilot's leather clad hands simply guided the freighter on its course; a touch of a button, the twist of a joystick.

The forbidding silence from their pilot made the asari and Ijar both uncomfortable, but still they proceeded to quietly discuss plans and tactics for their assassination and interrogation of Llarn:

"So Spectre, are we going to kill him?"

"I'm not sure. I don't like Wan anymore than I like the Lystheni, but still. Killing him will cripple them, at least in the short term; they will be forced to find a new supplier of Platinum for use in energy production. Without it they'll suffer major blackouts." She stared from the view port, past their pilot, at the silver speck in the distance - _that must be Llarn's yacht_.

"With all due respect Kylar," the salarian answered as the dot quickly became larger and larger as they approached ", the Lystheni State is an interstellar empire. Cutting off one supply route will not be that damaging. They'll simply open more."

As the dot grew, she could see that it was surrounded by many tiny vapour trails each moving in formation, orbiting and guarding the nucleus like the electrons in an atom. _Strike craft_.

"Maybe so, but it would certainly come in handy to have such stable contacts on Omega. Wan would owe me, his power would increase ten fold."

"Kylar, what are you looking at?" She turned to face her inferior and raised her left brow, crinkling the black kite at the centre of her forehead, as though puzzled.

"I was expecting an oversized Kowloon or something. That thing's at least big enough to be a Dreadnought..." Captain Ijar-Hadra stood and leant in to get a better view, the dot grew bigger still and Marala could begin to make out several features: the blue glow of the engines; the fluid markings upon its hull as they shimmered under the sapphire film of Mass Effect; And four massive protrusions sticking out of the forward end of the hull which she recognised as Mass Driver cannons.

"It's a cruiser - he might be a business man but he's under government charter. The ship may be big enough to be a dreadnought, but those cannons are too short to be the main guns of a dreadnought. Besides, the Lystheni don't have any dreadnoughts. For the Lystheni to even plan their construction is forbidden by the Treaty of Mannovai." He smiled at her smugly and briefly, the first time she'd seen him smile, it was a strange thing to see a salarian smile, she'd never even seen her father smile.

"What if it's privately owned?" she wasn't convinced; the salarians might have the best secret services in the galaxy but the Lystheni were of the same stock.

"Privately owned Dreadnoughts are covered by section thr-"

"_LMV Hal-Lysthen-Llarn-durn_," their pilot spoke up, his booming voice interrupting Ijar and making both jump at his sudden awakening ", this is _Le Triomphe _requesting permission to dock." And the cockpit again fell into silence as a massive square opening appeared in the side of the Cruiser, silver painted ceramic armour slid back horizontally to reveal bare dull alloy which folded vertically in on itself as a blue sheet of energy appeared to cover the opening in the side of the massive vessel and to prevent the atmosphere from escaping.

"These are mostly hollow; they provide the illusion of power, whilst they _do_ nothing but create a front for the Dalatrass's propaganda engine." As he spoke, the pilot pushed forward slowly on his joystick and eased the ancient freighter onto one of four docking platforms. She noticed that two of the other platforms were occupied by the ugly form of cargo vessels. "And they are extremely expensive to fuel."

"I see you're a proponent of skill over size, Captain Ijar" She smiled mischievously at the salarian whose expression betrayed either bemusement or confusion. Which, she couldn't say.

As they stepped from the freighter and onto a pristine gangway which lead towards a circular lift platform, the freighter's forward engines began to burn brightly and it reversed out of the hangar. As its angular and inelegant shape disappeared towards the irregular form of Omega, security doors slammed shut over the elevator. And two shutters embedded either side of the lift in the wall of the hangar slid open, clicking as the slats fell into place one on top of the other.

"A trap." Ijar stated calmly as he turned towards the security door, withdrawing both his assault rifle and his omni-tool. "Cover me while I open this."

She ran across the bridge to the elevator and pulled her pistol from its holster. As she did, four attack drones buzzed from their alcoves and activated, just metres in front of her. Before they had a chance to fire, she locked onto the first drone's blood red central eye and fired her pistol. The drone exploded in a shockwave of grey smoke and alloy debris. She despatched the rest with ease - a flurry of pistol fire and a blast of biotic energy.

But more came.

She conjured up a protective field of dark energy and hid behind it. Reappearing periodically to kill more drones, her trusty pistol blew holes in each - puncturing armour, frying circuits and removing artificial appendage from artificial joint. Ijar and Marala both were showered with debris.

"Nearly there, Kylar. Just…" and Marala jumped into the air, propelled by the force of her jump and dark energy burning within her nerves. Spinning, she locked onto each remaining drone with her pistol. One-by-one they exploded as she pulled the trigger and a cascade of hot shrapnel covered the gangway where she landed, triumphantly, being careful not to fall over the side.

As the security curtain rose, both Ijar and Marala stood and entered the circular lift.

"We should disable the engines. The engine room! That way we won't suddenly pop-up in Lystheni space." Marala told Ijar ", plus we can control the flow of energy from the engine room. We can disable all none essential systems – effectively blind and mute Llarn."

"You've infiltrated warships before?" the salarian asked as he pressed the holographic button which sent the elevator to the engine room, Marala wobbled slightly, her eyes rolling back in her head. He caught her where she stood and steadied her, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine Ijar, really. Biotics really take it out of me." And she gently pushed him away, smiling in thanks. "But like I said – I'm not a frail old woman. I've got some biotic stims on me. I'll be fine; I didn't get this far by coming unprepared."

___

"What're we looking for again Xirax?" Marcus looked blankly at his friend ", are there any specific parts we need to make that rust bucket fly again?"

"Hey, she is not a rust bucket!" the merc shouted, dual toned voice grating his hearing

"Well, I've never seen a woman as ugly as 'her' before." Marcus walked over to Xirax - broken arm held defensively to his chest - who was knee deep in a pile of what looked like large executive toys.

"I'm lookin' for a Halix Gyroscope… You might know it as a Cherenkov Gyroscope. Anyways, ours is screwed so we need a new one…" Xirax looked at him as though he was stating the obvious ", great; one that'll fit - whereas you're standin' there when you should have found me a type IX fusion battery." Marcus pulled a face at the turian and went back to the pile of batteries he'd since withdrawn from.

"What do they look like exactly?"

"Kinda battery-like: boxy, plastic, metal bits sticking outta it. There we have it-" Xirax reached over the pile of batteries in front of him and pulled out one which looked exactly the same as all the others.

They were stood in a small room which before they arrived was practically spotless, rows upon rows of spare parts for all manner of freighters and commercially available starships lined the shelves which stood in neat rows facing away from the door. Now however two piles of spare parts cluttered the floor and some kind of salarian variation on bubble rap was strewn across the cargo bay.

As Xirax turned around to leave, three fingered hands greasy and clutching engine parts he stood at the door and beckoned for Marcus to come with him.

"Come on Marc, check out the corr-" but before he could finish his sentence red lights began to flash in the bay and in the corridor and claxons sounded. A cool, fast, salarian voice sounded above the claxons, speaking the same unrecognisable phrase over and over again.

"Crap Marc, carry this," Xirax gestured with his mottled head towards his occupied right hand.

Marcus grabbed the Halix Gyroscope with his uninjured hand ", 'Intruder Alert. Intruder Alert'," he mimicked, with his filthy hand free and reaching for his pistol.

Xirax hobbled speedily out into the corridor and checked for security crew, when he found none he beckoned for Marcus to follow, Marcus braced himself for pain as his broken bones rubbed against each other inside the splint. He ran into the corridor just as soon as Xirax opened fire on an as yet unseen force.

The turian was calmly killing off each of his opponents, aiming for areas lacking in protection so they could be out of the corridor quickly and before more arrived. Marcus turned tail and ran back the way they came, Xirax reversing in his path also, but as he did Marcus felt a blindingly hot pain in his lower leg. He fell to the floor, dropping the Gyroscope with a clatter and grating his chin across the alloyed tiling as he skidded. He rolled over and looked back to find that more security had arrived, Xirax was struggling to deal with them. But his eye was caught by something else. He found his leg in a pool of blood, soft tissue broken and torn, bone shattered. The Damaged limb was barely attached, his lacerated limb was gushing blood. It took all of his strength for him to not pass out, but the white-hot pain still burnt at his demolished limb, and the losing battle was waging on. The salarians were pushing down the corridor, aiming not for the kill but for their capture. Limb shots and abdominal shots were their fair.

Xirax's kinetic shield battery was beeping in alarm at the amount of energy which was being asked of it. He couldn't take much longer. Marcus could see the sweat blossoming through melted scales, his remaining mandible flared with desperation. He was losing concentration.

"Go..." Marcus called to his companion, head feeling light from blood loss. "Take the Gyro- thing and-"

"I'm not leaving you dammit!" He baulked fiercely over yet more gunshots.

"I'll h-" he winced in agony as he pulled the pistol out of its holster, applying necessary pressure to his mutilated leg ", I'll hold them off."

The turian wouldn't listen, instead he carried on fighting. He took out one of the salarians with a shoulder shot, burnt flesh and shattered, melted ceramic blew off the soldier leaving a cavity the size of its lozenge-like head. Marcus lifted his pistol with his remaining strength and pointed it and Xirax:

"XIRAX! GO NOW!" he wouldn't let his friend be captured and injured as well; the turian had done enough for him. "Take the damned gyroscope and get back to the Barensix. I'll cover you." Grudgingly the turian turned tail, grabbing the part as he left. Marcus saw him flee into the distance and up the ramp at the end of the corridor, back out onto the platform where the _Barensix_ had landed.

Marcus turned his attention to the soldiers and immediately – though his eyes were clouded at the prospect of his coming torture – picked up where Xirax left off.

___

As the turian turned back towards the battle he'd just left, he caught a glimpse of his friend. The low grade Pistol he was using had overheated, leaving it useless for a period of time, a large enough period of time for the salarians to run forth and capture Marc -smacking him in the face with their weapons to knock him out. His arms went limp and he fell back before they lifted him and carried him to the other end.

Xirax turned towards the Hangar and forgot what was happening back there. He would not feel like a deserter, it was Marcus's choice. But no matter how hard he tried, couldn't shake off his training with the Hierarchy.

"Never leave a comrade behind. Never desert."

The echoes of his instructor's voice rang through his head as he fumbled with the spare parts, lugging them onto the _Barensix_. Through the cargo bay and down into the engine room where silently and meticulously, trying to avoid his feeling of desertion, he pushed all distractions aside and withdrew a spanner from his tool box which in their hurry to leave, he had left out.

He began removing the engine casing, spinning nuts and bolts until they were loose enough for him to remove with his clawed fingers. As he removed the final bolt, and went to take the shielded casing away from the damaged core he became aware of the omni-tool flashing at his wrist.

Leaving the spanner he activated the holographic display. A translucent orange coating appeared around his arm, photons coalesced into a display. Medigel and omni gel dispensers, communications, hacking and even limited ship control had been routed through the handset. As he read from the display he realised that he was picking up a signal; a friendly signal in range of the ship. He pressed a sequence of glowing buttons, each beeped as he did so. The Omni tool took him to the comm screen. It was registering an asari omni-tool nearby. On board! He was receiving Marala!


	10. Chapter 10

Marala and Ijar were under a constant barrage of weapons fire, hidden behind a massive, reinforced alloy crate at the centre of the wide rectangular opening connecting a short, brightly lit though featureless corridor and a circular room overlooking a bright stream of blue lightning; the Engine room of Llarn's cruiser. Upon their arrival at the engineering deck a team of technicians spotted them and ran for it, escaping the elevator room and leaving whatever maintenance they had previously been performing in favour of survival.

Claxons sounded and spinning red lights began to shine across the cruiser and within minutes they were surrounded by the ship's security teams - quick minded salarians set on taking them in. It wasn't easy but a spectre and a salarian STG captain aren't an easy match. They managed to push forwards towards the gaping aorta in the heart of Llarn's vessel - an aorta which would soon be severed.

Ijar jumped from behind the crate, and made a shot at one of the two remaining security crew. With the whirring thud, thud,thud of an assault rifle the Lystheni's kinetic barriers failed under the continued fire and he fell, blood pouring from a hole in his armour, just under his left collar bone. Ijar's rifle was much more accurate and elegant than any weapon any other soldier might have. His was a cutting edge, _Glyna III_ gun. One of the best the salarian military had to offer.

Before the fallen man's ally had chance to act, the asari tapped into her energy reserves and diving out from behind the enormous crate knocked the amphibian over the protective railings and into the stream of blue dark energy running and pulsating across room, below the maintenance platform.

As Ijar placed his gun pack in its holster on his muscled arm, he looked up to see the soldier meet with the stream of energy. As he did, he was pulled apart by the unfocused beam of Mass Effect energy. His atoms cast across the circular room in a grim cascade of carbon and water molecules. The salarian walked forward into Engine room, which like the other parts of the ship, was clean and efficiently presented, with little concern for aesthetics. The floor was a metal grill, which extended half-way into the room and ended with an equally metallic safety railing preventing – or not preventing in the case of the dead crewman – people from falling to their deaths in the pulsating element zero core. The core was controlled from a semi-circular access terminal which was set into an break in the railing, Orange holographic panels glowed at the pair from a distance, displaying multiple runes unfamiliar to Marala, who was puzzled when Ijar walked over to the terminal and began hacking it:

"I've never seen this writing before. It's Lystheni?" the asari stood behind the spy, watching over his shoulder, trying to grasp what he was doing.

"Yes, the Lystheni were an honoured nation once. They had their own language and alphabet – like many clans. But they've always been distrustful of outsiders. It took all of the Union's might to get them to join in the first place…" His fingers began tapping a sequence into the screen "I'm disabling all Mass Effect fields – with the exception of anti-proton containment and gravity – Llarn won't have offensive weaponry, kinetic barriers, FTL drive or emergency containment."

As the man spoke, the energy beam reduced in size significantly, and the intervals between energy pulses increased. The orange light of the screens slowly faded into red as they were locked by Ijar.

"It's been encrypted. I'm in control of energy distribution - I've also disabled sensors." He looked at her as if asking her for orders,

"We should head for the CIC. That's the most likely place to look for-" a beeping sounded from her omni-tool. She activated the beeping object, covering her arm with the orange glow of the device.

"Mar… lar… do… receive… is transmis…" with the push of a button she boosted the power to the tool.

"This is Spectre Agent Marala Kylar, come in and identify."

Through an audible but permissible crackle of static a familiar voice sounded", It's me. Xirax. So much for a warm greeting." The turian bellowed bemusedly into the comm device,

"Sorry. I thought that you'd gone to the Cita-"

"Obviously not, asari; no, we were shot down, dead in the water. This damn ship pulled us in. I'm working on fixing the _Barensix_ but it's gonna be a while yet. Marala," the turian's speech dropped in pitch and volume, he sounded ready to collapse", I left him. They've got Marcus." his guilt bled through the airwaves, thick like oil.

"Xirax, it's not your fault. You wouldn't have done it unless there wasn't a choice. Anyway they're not gonna to kill him. They need him to get go me – and to you. Is he injured?"

"The bastards nearly blew his leg off, he was bleeding badly. And his arm broke when the gravity failed… They knocked him out. I-"

"Turian," Xirax grunted at the sound of Ijar's high pitched voice", forget him. We'll find him; just fix your ship. That is more important right now."

The salarian grabbed Marala's hand and turned the omni-tool off, disabling the connection between Xirax and the asari. He looked at her with his massive eyes, his functioning one focusing on hers,

"You seem to regard the human highly. I suggest we hurry; we have a ship to take. We can find him afterwards, when we have Llarn. He'll be more than willing to divulge Marcus's location when I've finished with him."

Marala regarded the spy's abnormally dominating physique as he strode back towards the lift.

_I just hope Llarn's not as flimsy as the average salarian. We need him._ She thought to herself, turning to follow Ijar.

___

"Damn that ass-faced lizard!" Xirax punched the consol he was stood by, his fist passing through the blue hologram. "Shit!" The turian caressed his newly bruised knuckles, whilst clutching and stroking the consol, examining it for damage.

"They'd better find him…" the turian turned to walk back to his repairs, but as he did he spotted five shapes moving quickly towards the airlock from across the gangway, it was the same group that he was fighting before, "damn! They're all the same."

He moved back from the entrance and quickly began a new encryption sequence on the airlock door, and as they drew their weapons ready for the fight, the airlock sealed, leaving bullets to ricochet off the metal of the entryway.

"You ain't gettin' in this time you pesky bastards, but that won't last very long now will it?" And Xirax strode to the door, and bent down at the pneumatic piston which opened the sealed entrance. Scratching at the metal plate which covered the gaping hole in the side of his face, he unscrewed a small panel set into the base of the door. Reaching inside he grabbed onto a thick cylindrical object and twisted. Removing the object, whilst placing it on a surface he guffawed to himself", you definitely ain't getting' in without a fuse in the lock."


	11. Chapter 11

They were fenced in. Ijar and Marala had emerged from the lift, which opened out into a corridor, branching off into various important locations on the ship, including the CIC at the far end; it was a sort of grand boulevard Marala thought. The corridor was covered floor to ceiling with access panels, some glowing with holographic displays, others blank silver fuse boxes. Large and small the displays were all glowing red, casting the otherwise well lit corridor into a crimson oblivion and obscuring parts in eerie blood-tinged shadows. This was further amplified by the rotating red floodlights shining from the ceiling, alerting the crew to the presence of intruders. The duo had found the corridor deserted, apparently evacuated of all important personnel in light of their arrival, they ran straight to the opposite side of the corridor.

But as Ijar prepared to decrypt the CIC security door, ventilation ducts blew open and the corridor was flooded with the same combat drones they'd encountered in the hangar. Ijar took two shots to the back of his shoulder, the first breaking through his already battle weakened kinetic barriers and gouging a fissure in his ceramic armour, the second meeting with warm, soft flesh and causing the salarian to falter and slide from his kneeling position, smacking his scaled face against the metallic tiling.

He leaped up, taking care to avoid the chain-gun fire as the duo took cover behind a pair of jutting computer stations at either side of the entrance into the command centre.

"You okay," she shouted, jumping from cover to fire a shot at a drone - the flying automaton's armour cracking with the impact of her bullet, shattering with a second burst.

"I'm fine; you're going to have to cover me." He chirped, hiding the pain at his wound. And without further warning, he left his new found cover, leaping across the gap which separated them and firing a round of tungsten bullets into another drone, which then exploded in a cloud of that familiar suffocating debris.

"Hey," Marala said, removed one of her few remaining biotic stims. Withdrawing the needle she stabbed it between the rubber seal in the plates of her light, asari commando armour at her inner thigh.

"Thanks for the heads up," she chided, wrinkling the white kite on her forehead, jumping out of cover; newly and artificially energised by the stim she created a well of gravity at the centre of the cloud of drones, ripping and tearing them from their desired positions and causing them to collide with each other, crushing chassis against chassis until all that was left was a broken mass of alloy. The well also ripped bulkheads from their rivets, battering the drones with plates of the shiny, dense alloy.

"Go decrypt that door," the Spectre barked, battering the crimson eye of a brutalised drone which had escaped from the gravitic quicksand with the butt of her pistol, causing the drone to drop lifelessly to the ground where it floated.

The salarian obeyed silently, returning to his original task as she unleashed her full biotic and ballistic fury on the remaining drones. No more than six remain out of the original horde. The singularity had served its purpose. A wave of pistol rounds dispersed these, melting their armour on contact. She sprung from cover and lunged at them, a blue wave of dark energy slamming the shattered six against the opposite side of the corridor. As the drones collided with the wall, the hologram lined bulk heads sparked angrily as the hard metal pierced circuits and shorted fuses.

The once pristine though eerie corridor was now partially darkened; the crimson consoles now pitted with the dense carcasses of the Lystheni attack drones, too damaged to explode with their usual self-destructive fervour.

As Marala dusted herself down and turned to see how the salarian tech was getting on, she heard a hiss – the central locking mechanism in the door was spinning. Ijar stepped back,

"It's done, it was a lot simpler now that I have access to power distribution-" he flinched as he went to withdraw his assault rifle. He hadn't had any medigel applied to the wound on his shoulder "- I could just reboot the ship-wide security grid."

"You should put some medigel on that, it'll get infected y'know." The locking mechanism ceased spinning, instead the circle split into two halves, one sliding horizontally left, the other right, and before Marala could advise him anymore, or even offer to apply some of the soothing salve, the door opened via a horizontal crack, hissing and groaning on its rails.

And when Marala and Ijar stepped into the darkened control centre they both let out a gasp.

The bridge was on an incline, pointing outwards. A double 'V' of control consoles pointed out with the bridge, each separate console glowing red, denying Llarn's crew access to vital systems, life-support, defence, offence, engines, everything; on the left side of the CIC a slightly raised, flat platform provided Llarn with his command station, allowing him to bark orders across his ship's nerve centre. This was mirrored on the right, where another raised platform shimmered with a glowing holographic image of the Milky Way, currently displaying an arrow pointing to the Omega cluster. But Llarn's command chair was empty. Instead he was stood behind the double V of computer panels, at his flanks were eight Lystheni soldiers. But they had never seen commandos like this before – they were clad in black hard-suits and were carrying brutal looking assault rifles. Over the medium hard-suits they wore hooded cloaks on which the hood was black and the cape was an intense and ferric blood red. The capes billowed right to the floor, the asari and the salarian both would have no knowledge of their power if their weapons weren't drawn and poised to fire at them because the capes were flung over their shoulders to allow for this.

Their uniform reminded Marala of Gerda. _Maybe these were the agents who attacked the Destiny Ascension_.

But their sheer numbers and firepower weren't what shocked the duo. It was the fact that behind the lines of Men, behind Llarn with his hand held up in anticipation of the order he was about to give, and in front of a massive panoramic window, affording the entire bridge with a view of the Omega cluster a circular metal slab with a diameter of about eight feet lay on a stand and strapped spread-eagle upside down on the slab, his bloody wounds oozing with poorly applied medigel was Marcus.

The chewed up wreck of his right leg was patched up carelessly with medigel and bandages, a bloody pulp of damaged flesh and said medicine had formed on his bare limb. Lines of blood streaked the metal disc and Marcus alike as the blood had ran down their doctor, covering the polymer fabric of his doctor's uniform with rusty streaks. The bones in one arm were sticking out at odd angles and powdery white plaster-dust coated the arm, giving the earthy skin a pale tinge. Llarn had obviously removed his plaster-cast in an effort to cause Marc pain. His eyes were closed and swelled. Dark circular purple bruises mottled his ordinarily smooth, handsome complexion, and his lower lip was burst. Thankfully he had passed out and so the Lystheni sadist had stopped torturing him. Marala hoped that he had passed out.

"Hold your fire Council slaves," the Lystheni ordered in accented trade, ", or you might not be as lucky as Dr Al-Abdurrashid here." And he sneered at them, or something like a sneer. His lipless amphibian mouth curled up at one side. The salarian gestured with one hand towards Marcus, allowing them to see the silver mallet he clasped in one hand, the mallet which he had used to batter Marcus's angular features. Llarn was a typical Lystheni salarian; he was grey and wiry and large lidless eyes dominated his long, flat and scaled face. The platinum baron was a little shorter, however, than the average salarian and he was dressed in full military regalia, the blue tunic and pants of the palace honour guard on Lysth complete with sash, however his sash was silver, rather than red and black.

"I have promised milady that you will be handed over alive." Ijar gave a high-pitched laugh at this,

"I bet she laughed in your face. You couldn't even keep us off your bridge."

"Llarn, you're troops are useless. I killed your little princess-" she was less confident in reality; it was literally an up hill battle. And they were outgunned and outnumbered dangerously.

"Silence, the both of you." The lizard snapped the membranes of his eyes dilating ", your little escapades were of some concern, but you can not hope to stand up to Her Greatnesses guards themselves. Surrender and you might live at her mercy."

"Like we're going to, Llarn, she'd kill us anyway, that greedy whore would probably eat us." Marala was shocked at Ijar's continued outburst; he was usually sensible, usually efficient. Maybe he was trying to anger Llarn, perhaps he had a plan.

"I said silence." The salamander-like male barely raised his voice this time ", you know you don't stand a chance. Still I didn't expect you to comply. But know this; we have reinforcements on the way. A carrier – they'll be no escape even if you manage to kill me and get back to your little freighter. No, you're going to…" the Lystheni continued babbling and Ijar whispered towards her, barely moving his lips or even changing his stature,

"_Look; the window. We've got company,_" Ijar was right, three mismatched frigates were heading for the cruiser, they were quite close judging by their size.

"_It's Wan_" he continued, holding up his omni tool only slightly as to show her the message he'd received "_He's got troops, I'm opening the docking bays. Kylar, hold on to something, tight, and put Llarn in stasis._"

"…You're little journeyto save the Citadel is over either way." Llarn finished, and strode confidently around the computer panel and towards them, his boots clacking as he strutted over. "What do you say?"

"Now, Kylar!" He blared, before the troops had time to react, she waved her hand in the direction of Llarn, tethering him to the bulk head on which he stood and sealing him away in a skin tight bubble of dark energy. His eyes widened as she did this but he was unable to move at all. In one swift moment, Ijar both threw a grenade at the giant viewing screen and jumped to grab onto the control panels, his steel muscles binding him in place. Marala did the same, and in that second the grenade blew. Blue light filled the bridge; a momentary wave of heated air filled the chamber, knocking the air out of her lungs; shattering the thick glass. The helpless soldiers attempted to take their targets, but they were dazed by the bright lights and the gust of hot air. They were floundering and they would perish, but not because of the explosion.

Crystal shards blew out into space as the atmosphere gushed from the gaping wound, instantly cooling the heat of the explosion. Llarn's men soon exiting into space to join them and as they met the vacuum, their soft tissues began to expand due to the lack of pressure; bloated flesh and blood began to ooze from their hoods and the rubber seals of their armour split, separating the ceramic plates into separate flesh filled segments of gore, barely held in place by their thin-boned skeletons. Llarn himself remained tethered in place by Marala's stasis field, as did Marcus who remained firmly strapped to the metal slab, despite the fact that he was taking a bettering from the flood of nitrogen and oxygen spewing across him in search of the hull breach.

Just as Marala thought that her arms give in to the fatigue of both clinging on for dear life and maintaining a stable mass effect field, Ijar re-engaged emergency containment. A flickering blue field appeared over the shattered window, preventing any light gas from escaping the CIC. She allowed her stasis field to collapse, along with, it seemed, Llarn, who was now on his knees begging for mercy.

"What were you saying?" She heard Ijar snarl, flat saurian face to flat saurian face with Llarn. She rushed to Marcus, clambering over the control panels to get to him. The first thing she did was to check his pulse. The dull, highly spaced thumping was heaven to her. Carefully she unbuckled his unbroken arm, rushing to his other side. Supporting his bruised head with one hand she undid his shattered arm. Lifting him upright and supporting him by gently holding his back she unfastened his butchered legs. Surely they would be okay?

Almost buckling under his weight she carried him in her arms over to Captain Ijar who was 'interrogating' Llarn. The salarian's face was contorted with a mixed look of disgust, rage and fear… As well as myriad other emotions which doubtless only Llarn and Ijar could read. Llarn was breaking the many bones - one by one – of his hand.

"What does she need the platinum for?" He asked calmly, barely raising his voice above a high pitched whisper. And then a disgusting crack followed by a scream choked with the flesh of Llarn's healthy hand ", he's already told me that there's been an increase in the demand of platinum… He attempted to grovel with it," he spoke to the asari, burning with a look of disgust at the Lystheni salarian ", and further attempts at extracting information are proving difficult."

Marala looked down at the whimpering businessman ", knock him out and carry him to the ship. I'll interrogate him later; asari methods are equally efficient but far less physically tormenting. Besides, Marcus needs a hospital if he's going to make it… And there's that carrier on its way."

Llarn gave one last pathetic whimper as Ijar punched him square in face, full strength. Hauling him onto his uninjured shoulder as if nothing remotely troubling had happened he stated with equal serenity,

"A successful mission so far, Kylar. You're technique is rather… Unusual."

The spectre looked down at the unconscious human she was cradling, perhaps inches from death, and then across at the spy in front of her and his comatose charge ", I'm glad you think so."

___

The duo hurried back to the lift and punched in the code for the hangar deck, avoiding armed Lystheni crew members and attempting to ensure that Llarn remained unconscious, whilst avoiding further injury to the already crucified body of Marcus. The elevator platform whirred along in its shaft and arrived at the hangar bay with a jolt, almost causing a biotic weakened Marala to drop Marc.

They exited along the gangway, which lead into the hangar. And there was the _Barensix_, black crumples splashed across the already worn hull where several weapons had discharged upon the freighter's angular form. Strangely the airlock lay open - splaying the blue-glowing insides for all to see, Marala and Ijar both had expected Xirax to be firmly barricaded inside.

However, in front of the, _Barensix_'s boarding ramp the bodies of a squad of Lystheni commandos lay, their limbs and abdomens gouged open despite the armour they wore. This was explained by the presence of three combat transports on the opposite side of the Hangar, and the rows of seemingly miniature troops assembled in front of them, ardently listening to a pacing commander, his speech lost to the vast hangar. They were preparing for battle. Obviously here for the after party.

As they approached the mercenaries' ranks it became clear, even though there were few other possibilities as to whom this militia was responsible to, and that the commander was Wan. His great crest of hair was now dyed crimson, interspersed with thin black bands, to match the crimson and midnight of his Colossus armour. This in turn matched the new battle armour of his soldiers: that stark uniformity set Wan's men apart from the ragtag bands which roamed the Terminus. His was an army; he had amassed his own private military. This 'small time crime lord' meant business; he must have been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long while.

As they drew near, several of the Mercenaries saw them and drew their weapons, waiting for the order to fire. Ouranos span around to face them.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE," he bellowed in his same calm voice, interrupting his pre-battle speech, General-like, his hands poised behind his back he marched towards them. He was no longer a nightclub owner, Llarn's lieutenant. Wan's narrow eyes assessed Marala and Ijar, the black orbs darting to Llarn. As they switched to view Marcus they suddenly widened ever so slightly, as though in recognition. They turned again to assess the asari Spectre.

"Hello, Spectre, Captain Ijar. I'm glad you survived," the man smiled sarcastically, clearly lying. Or exaggerating ", I trust our agreement stands? You kill Llarn in exchange for passage to the _Hal-Lysthen-Llarn-durn_. I hope you brought him here for me to execute him."

"Not exactly," she inclined her elegant though now battle polished sunset head, forcing the point ", we need him for information. Don't worry; he'll be done for in the end anyway. I'll make sure of it."

The human looked pissed for a second, as though he would order his men to kill them all; she really wouldn't put in past him. But instead he looked to the vulnerable human whom she was cradling and his features softened momentarily,

"Very well; asari interrogation is not known for its… Mercies. You may leave-"

"How did you do it?" Ijar interrupted their exchange, barely fatigued from carrying his fellow salarian "How did you amass such a fighting force especially without being assassinated by or even raising the awareness of our STGs?"

The crime lord smiled, thumbing his nose at them ", I gave them a purpose. I feed and protect their families. I give them stability." Wan halted, considering how to continue ", the human casualties of the Alliance's expansion are many. I take in the ordinary working man forced into crime by a government who cares little about whether its colonies are adequately defended. The government which doesn't care whether ordinary men and women lose their livelihoods because of Piracy and raids. I offered them the chance to get back at those who ruined them. They took it. Now leave, we do have a new flagship to commandeer - and transfer control of the power grid back to the ship." Wan ordered, turning expressionlessly to walk back to his many-faced troops, who waited patiently but with eagerness for him to conclude.

"Do it," she ordered her salarian compatriot.

As they both turned towards the _Barensix_, eager themselves to leave, Wan shouted after them,

"I'll have my men load your ship with enough supplies to return to the Citadel. You've done a service to me in removing the salarian," he spat the reference to Llarn; but his strong blank features softened slightly ", tell Marc that David says good luck."

And the ramshackle group made its hurried way to the _Barensix_, where Xirax waited in the cockpit, silently staring at Marcus's broken body as they carried him through and laid him in his bunk.

___

He thought that he felt a shadow of a tear come to his ruined ducts as they carried him through. He had done that, it was his fault. His friend had nearly died and he was responsible. He set the auto pilot for the citadel, instructing the computer to inform docking operators that they had casualties on board, and as the newly-repaired engines burned into life, hangar bay doors sliding aside to reveal the cold void of the universe, he jumped up and went to their quarters. 


End file.
